


Kiss

by someonestolemyshoes



Series: Twitch [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 2nd year kagehina, Angst, Anxiety, Crying, Fluff, KageHina - Freeform, Kisses, M/M, but also cuddling!! and other cute things it's not all doom and gloom i promise, it's mostly nice, it's small emotional rollercoaster, so many kisses as per, tics, tourette's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-08-19 19:19:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8222021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someonestolemyshoes/pseuds/someonestolemyshoes
Summary: It’s been months. Three, to be exact. Three months two weeks and five days, and Hinata could probably recall the hours, minutes, and seconds too, but it isn’t all that important. What’s important is, they’ve been together – really, officially together – for three months two weeks five days and eighteen hours and Kageyama has yet to actually, properly kiss him.And it’s becoming a problem.It’s a problem, not because Hinata is desperate to be kissed, but because there’s only one big, glaring reason why Kageyama might not want to kiss him right now, or maybe even ever.





	1. Cheek

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Twitch](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6103802) by [CheekyBrunette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheekyBrunette/pseuds/CheekyBrunette). 



> listen this is mostly self-indulgent fluff and angst but I wanted to write about a few first-kiss scenario's in CheekyBrunette's Twitch universe so!! here u go  
> Each chapter is only gonna be little, and there are only gonna be like five and I will probably post them daily for the next few days!! And please go and read the fic this was inspired by bc honest it's so good 
> 
> ANYWAY the basic gist: this little fic is going to follow the struggles Kageyama and Hinata face in feeling out the physical side of their relationship, with an awful lot of fluff thrown in.

Hinata has never been in a relationship before so he can’t be sure, but he thinks things with Kageyama probably aren’t going the way they should be.  

The thing is, he’s happy; he’s so, unspeakably happy, the kind of pure joy that sets his body shivering with every breath, that has his cheeks aching from a smile stretched so impossibly wide he thinks it might just burst right off his face, that pumps his heart twice as hard and twice as fast behind his ribs and really, he shouldn’t be asking for more.

He shouldn’t, but…

Kageyama is very good at holding hands. He’s got big, strong hands and long fingers and the skin of his palms is warm (it’s a little dry, too, and kind of rough over the callouses but Hinata likes them just like that) and his own hands slot so nicely against them. 

He’s also a pretty good cuddler. Kind of stiff, to start off with, and he’s always got this constipated kind of smile on his face that wobbles over his lips and shines in his eyes like he can’t quite believe he’s allowed to touch Hinata in the way that he is, and sometimes he loses himself like that, so much so that Hinata has to elbow him to bring him back down to earth. But he loosens up after a while, and when he does his body goes soft and goopy, and warm; it’s a new, honey-sweet kind of cosiness.

He’s good at those things – those couple-y things – but there’s one huge milestone they’ve yet to really reach: kissing.

It’s been _months_. Three, to be exact. Three months two weeks and five days, and Hinata could probably recall the hours, minutes, and seconds too, but it isn’t all that important. What’s important is, they’ve been together – really, officially together – for three months two weeks five days (and eighteen hours) and Kageyama has yet to actually, properly kiss him.

And it’s becoming a problem.

It’s a problem, not because Hinata is desperate to be kissed, but because there’s only one big, glaring reason why Kageyama might not want to kiss him right now, or maybe even ever.

* * *

It’s raining when Kageyama kisses him on the cheek.

It’s not the first time, but it’s still all weird and giddy and fizzy in his stomach. Kageyama’s mouth is cold, lips a little dry even through the rain, and the tip of his nose presses into Hinata’s temple a little too hard, and if it were anyone else, maybe, it’d be uncomfortable. But it isn’t anyone else; it’s Kageyama, and it’s the best feeling in the world.

Kageyama pulls away with hot, red cheeks, eyes cast to the raindrops pattering ripples in puddles. He’s digging his hands into his pants pockets so hard the waistband is creeping too low on his hips. Hinata smiles, grins and flaps his arms at his sides – he’s got so much energy he thinks he might just take off if he can’t stop himself _moving_ , and Kageyama must be thinking the same, because his fingers sink into the hem of Hinata’s jacket as though he were trying to hold him to the ground.

Hinata bites his lip and pins his hands to his thighs. Kageyama still isn’t looking at him; he’s just watching the ground, and Hinata watches, too, as the raindrops grow heavier, beating the asphalt and drumming the puddles, and after a moment he slips a little distance between them and fists the handles of his bike.

“I gotta go,” he says, and when he looks up to Kageyama’s face a few fat raindrops pelt him in the eyes, “before it gets too much worse.”

“Right,” Kageyama says, nods.

Honest truth, Hinata would stand in the rain forever if it meant spending more time with Kageyama. But it’s getting late, and it’s getting dark, and the rain shows no signs of stopping. Hinata’s swings a leg over the seat of his bike before he convinces himself to stay any longer.

It’s a little late to think about it, riding over the mountain, but Hinata thinks he probably should have kissed him back. There was a time when he would have - months ago, when they’d been dating only weeks and it's all Hinata would  _do,_ kiss and kiss and kiss until Kageyama's cheeks glowed red. And then Kageyama found the courage to kiss him, too, and suddenly it was _hard_. Impossible, even; the thought of being the one to do the kissing made his chest feel tight, his stomach sick, sent his brain whirring and reeling, warning-lights flashing, because anxiety is such a _weird_ little thing like that. 

Once it starts bubbling away under his skin, Hinata finds it hard to shake.

And the current issue, the one thought that sits constant, ever present, lurking in the dust and the shadows at back of his mind, is that Kageyama probably doesn’t want his gross tic-y mouth anywhere _near_ him.

It shouldn’t be a problem. It shouldn’t be, because Kageyama has said roughly three million times that he doesn’t mind Hinata’s tics. He once said he even _liked_ them (though Hinata knows it was a lie, a big fat one) but Hinata just...can’t fathom a reason why anyone would be okay kissing his squeaking, yelping, yelling mouth.

Not even Kageyama.


	2. Forehead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mindless fluff pt 2

They’re cuddling one night – at Hinata’s house, this time, on the couch with a mountain of pillows and blankets and a movie they’re barely watching blaring from the television – when Kageyama kisses him again.

It’s warm, sandwiched between the cushions and the blankets and Kageyama, and Hinata can already feel his eyelids beginning to droop. It isn’t all that late, not late enough for sleeping, but the sky is already darkening, and a low, howling kind of wind batters at the windows. With the comfort of the fire and the low light from the television, he’s struggling to keep himself awake.

“We can go to bed, if you’re tired.”

It still makes him blush, hearing anything like _concern_ from Kageyama. It’s new, and it’s nice, but it heats his cheeks and thrums his heart and sets a weird, dizzy kind of fire in his stomach.

“It’s – mmmmmm – it’s fine,” he says, presses his face into Kageyama’s shoulder to hide his blush. He’s comfortable enough, anyways, nestled on the sofa. Kageyama’s fingers tease up over his hip and settle against the bone; they are warm where they rest, bleeding heat through the blankets and his t-shirt and seeping into his skin.

Kageyama doesn’t say anything more. He sits still and quiet, and Hinata tracks each breath by the rise and fall of his chest; they are slow, steady and measured, unruffled by the occasional twitch of Hinata’s arms or the jerk of his head. More than once he twists, sharp enough to twinge the muscles lining his neck, and cracks his nose into Kageyama’s ribs, and still he doesn’t move, doesn’t even flinch.

Rarely a day goes by that Hinata doesn’t feel at least a _little_ conscious of his tics, and today is no exception. Thing is, most days, Kageyama makes him feel comfortable with it; he doesn’t seem to mind all that much, not even when Hinata is flapping and squeaking and yelling, all his most boisterous habits boiling on the surface. But even Kageyama’s patience has a limit (he’s actually _super_ impatient, where anything else is concerned, because he’s a huge grouch most of the time, but Hinata likes him still anyways), and he grunts when Hinata’s arm beats where it’s squished between them.

Hinata’s head jerks again, and he groans.

“Sorry,” he says, neck straining once, twice, three times in quick succession. He sits up, pushes a little way over the sofa. Cool air pours into the empty space between them, raising goosebumps over his arm, and Hinata waits out the onslaught of movement with a few muffled _sorry_ ’s squeezed between the press of hums in his throat.

“It’s fine.” Kageyama’s voice sounds distant, sleepy, and Hinata feels a big fat knot of guilt tie itself in his stomach.

He doesn’t settle back once they’re over. Instead he sits upright, back rigid, shoulders anchored up by his ears and his eyes glued on the movie. Beside him, Kageyama grumbles, pokes a finger at his hip.

“Oi,” he says. Hinata pretends he doesn’t hear. The problem with his tics is, they don’t care if he’s comfortable. They don’t care if he’s cuddled up to his boyfriend - _boyfriend_ \-  and they don’t care if he’s full and warm, sleepy and content. They don’t care about _anything_. 

Kageyama pokes him again, harder this time, and when Hinata continues to ignore him he digs his knuckles into his thigh until Hinata yelps.

Hinata catches Kageyama fingers in his, knots them together and tries hard as he can to bend them backwards. Kageyama is, annoyingly, an awful lot stronger, and the tiny, hopeless wrestling match that ensues results in Hinata’s whimpered surrender.

“Dumbass,” Kageyama says, soothes his thumb over Hinata’s knuckles, “come _here_.”

He tugs, hard, and Hinata topples sideways and tumbles into Kageyama’s chest. He wraps an arm around his waist, curling it to hold him just a little too tight.

“I might tic again,” he warns. Kageyama shrugs a shoulder.

“Doesn’t matter.” There is something in the pitch of his voice, in the softness of it, the lazy hum of every word that makes Hinata’s heart beat warm and firm in his chest. He peeks up through his hair at Kageyama’s face, looks for the usual wobbly smile, the pink cheeks, the big, shiny eyes but what he gets instead is something calm, relaxed; a little closer to peaceful.

Kageyama’s mouth stretches in a yawn, and Hinata looks back at the tv.

“It’s annoying,” he says. Kageyama’s chin rests atop his head.

“It’s fine, shut up.”

Hinata grumbles, wriggles his wedged arm around Kageyama’s back and stills.

The movie plays on - it’s reaching some important point, Hinata can tell, because the music is getting all loud and tense and there’s a lot of fast-moving stuff going on - and the sky beyond the window has turned a thick, full, inky black. The fire has burned itself low but the room is heavy and lazy with heat, and Hinata lets himself be lulled by the twirl of Kageyama’s fingers over his hip and the sound of his heart beating his ribs.

He is swimming in limbo between sleep and wake when Kageyama kisses him. It’s light as a feather, so light Hinata thinks, at first, he imagined it, but there is a very real warmth over his forehead and the absence of Kageyama’s chin resting in his hair. Hinata tucks his brow closer to the press Kageyama’s mouth and a long, low hum works it’s way out of his throat.

He falls asleep just like that, to the credits of a movie he hardly watched, with Kageyama’s hand tucking the blankets right up to his shoulders and his lips ghosting over his hairline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eyyy look on schedule lets see how long this lasts lmao end me


	3. Palm

It’s a whole summer of cheek kisses and forehead kisses before Kageyama tries something new.

Hinata would like to try, himself; he’d like to instigate a change, to maybe just all out kiss Kageyama right on the mouth because it’s all he can think about, some days, but then he will yell, or he will yelp, or hiccup or jerk his head or pull his hair, and Hinata thinks there’s a snowball's chance in _hell_ Kageyama would want to be kissed by him.

So, he will take what he can get.

Kageyama has taken to kissing him goodbye at the end of the road, a quick peck below his eye with shaky lips and blushing cheeks, and though it’s no longer new, it’s still a gut-curling kind of thrilling.

Hinata wishes he had the courage to do it back. It was there, once; eager and ever present, but now, for all the little kisses he has been given, he has been unable to find the gall to return the favour. It’s not that he doesn’t want to - he _does_ , he wants to so badly it hurts, sometimes - but the worry is there, the constant concern that it’s not what _Kageyama_ wants, that Kageyama would never again want his unpredictable mouth on his skin, and Hinata is far too nervous to even think about really, actually trying.

Right now, though, it doesn’t much matter. Because tomorrow they have a practice match, and kissing Kageyama is the least of his worries.

Practice is _grueling_. It’s fun, though, takes Hinata’s mind far, far away from boyfriends and kisses and tics, and Hinata is thankful for the short-lived control it gives him. For almost two whole hours his body barely stutters out of rhythm; he’s about as close to a fine-honed machine he’s ever going to get - still clumsy, still uncoordinated, but he is, for the most part, in charge of every move he makes.

The last drill they run before cool down is block practice.

He is standing in line with Tsukishima towering on his right and Yamaguchi guarding his left, arms raised, eyes following the curve Tanaka carves over the court with his run up. He hears the soft hush of the ball as it rolls from Kageyama’s fingers, the squeak of shoes, and then Tanaka’s palm is raining down above them, thwacking from the leather. Hinata finds himself in the air, volleyball slamming between his hand and Tsukishima’s and echoing off into the empty space behind them.

“There’s too much space in your block,” Ukai calls from the sidelines, “Hinata, Tsukishima, close the gap between your hands next time.”

Hinata says nothing. He’s looking at his palm; the skin is blooming red and it smarts, stings, feels tender where Hinata kneads his thumb into it. The tissue already feels puffy and swollen, hot beneath his thumb. Hinata shakes it out, nods his _yes sir_ to Ukai, and resumes his position for round two. 

* * *

Hinata changes slowly after practice. It always happens like this; volleyball is over, his brain catches up with his body, and suddenly he’s _exhausted_ , aching, and the first few tics take a weird, heavy toll.

Before he knows it, he and Kageyama are the last people left.

Kageyama is dressed, shoulder-leaning the locker while Hinata pulls his shirt over his head. His arms feel like jelly, shaky and wobbly, and a little like they might snap at the elbows. He drops them to his sides with a tired smile in Kageyama’s direction. He slides from his seat on the bench down onto the floor, shoving a few discarded gym clothes into his bag.

Kageyama moves, too, pushes off the lockers and walks to kneel in front of him, pressing various items - shorts, water bottle, one trainer and three (?) socks - into Hinata’s chest for him to pack. He smells kind of sweaty, still, because they never tend to shower after evening practice, and Hinata tells him so with a sly smile and his face all wrinkled.

Kageyama pinches his nose between finger and thumb, and Hinata squawks out a few thick, muffled insults, batting at Kageyama’s wrist for him to let go. When he doesn’t, Hinata palms at his face instead, pushes and shoves with his arms outstretched until Kageyama releases his nose and grips at his arms instead.

There’s something like amusement in his eyes, all bright and sparkly and a little narrowed, like they go when he’s trying super hard not to smile even though he really, _really_ wants to, but then he stops, pulling Hinata’s left hand away from his face, and his brow sinks in a pinched little frown.

“Is this from today?” He asks, and Hinata shrugs, because he doesn’t even know what Kageyama is talking about. “This,” Kageyama adds, shakes Hinata by the wrist. His hand lolls dully between them.

“What?”

Kageyama grabs him by the fingers, tugs and twists Hinata’s hand until the light is shining down on his palm, and he runs the pad of one finger over the beginnings of a dull bruise blooming over the skin.

Kageyama huffs, taps the sensitive flesh.

“Block properly, and this won’t happen,” he says. Hinata sticks out his tongue, and Kageyama squeezes his fingers a little too hard.

“I block _fine_ ,” Hinata says, though he knows it isn’t true. Still, he thinks; today he did better, and he tells Kageyama so with his shoulders back and his chin jutted up and out. Kageyama snorts, but doesn’t argue.

His brow is a still little pinched in the middle, like he’s thinking but not _too_ hard, and then he lifts Hinata’s hand up to face him, brings it high into the air between them, and slides his lips over the purpling skin.

Hinata’s breath stops in his lungs.

Kageyama’s eyes are closed - probably so he doesn’t poke himself with Hinata’s fingers, he thinks - and there’s a tiny pink blush creeping over his cheeks. He sighs out a breath through his nose; the hush of warm air tickles over Hinata’s fingers.

A weird, giddy kind of grin bubbles over Hinata’s face. He chirps, high and loud, then claps his free hand over his mouth. He hiccups, and his knees jump against Kageyama’s where they’re pressed together on the floor. Kageyama’s eyes snap open and he pulls away, drops Hinata’s hand to his lap and scoots a little space between them.

“Be more careful next time.”  

“I’m always careful.” His voice comes out all...all weird, and breathy, and Hinata sucks in a breath and squeaks air through his nose.

Kageyama shuffles at the noise, and Hinata isn’t certain, but he thinks that Kageyama’s face twitches in something like a grimace.

It’s weird, the way all the air is sucked right out of Hinata’s mouth, dragged from his lungs until there’s nothing left for him to breath. He swallows, stands, slings his bag over his shoulder.

“I should go home,” Hinata says. Kageyama just nods. 

* * *

Hinata tries not to think too hard on it. He tries all the way home, tries to focus on the feel of the bike beneath him, of his feet on the pedals and the wheels skimming over the tarmac, and then he thinks about his dinner, about the bland, pasty taste of rice in his mouth and the bitter tang of sauce on his tongue, and then he thinks about the beat of the shower water between his shoulders but none of it, really, distracts him.

There’s a constant, biting voice in the back of his mind reminding him, even as he lies down to sleep, that Kageyama actually _winced_.

Kageyama winced at his tics.


	4. Nose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY I missed posting yesterday bc i was a Big Tired baby and I could read words well enough to even try editing

Hinata has absolutely no reason to be wheezing his breaths beneath a back stairwell, eyes streaming, nose running, hands knotted in his hair, tugging so hard he might rip it right out of his scalp.

And yet, here he is.

Here he is, crying like the biggest, most stupid baby, sucking air like there isn’t enough left on the planet, and for what? He doesn’t even _know_.

Today has been fine; _perfect_ , even. Practice was fine, school was fine, his homework was (for once) done on time, he kept up remarkably well in all his morning classes, so there’s no logical reason for Hinata to be panicking.

He heaves a wet, snotty gulp of air and coughs it back out.

He’s shaking, so much so he isn’t sure his legs could carry him if he tried, and what little breath he has left is wasted on squeaks and hiccups he can’t hold back.

It’s stupid, so stupid, and _he_ is stupid; stupid for being anxious about nothing at all in the world. He fiddles with his phone in his lap, his texts to Kageyama open and blurry in front of him, shaky thumbs hovering over the screen as he considers.

The thing is, Hinata hasn’t really spoken to Kageyama since the practice match. He hasn’t all-out avoided him, because it’d be fully impossible even if he _tried,_ but the time they have spent together has been silent. Quiet and stiff, with Hinata biting his tongue and squeezing his throat, limbs held rigid, fighting the gnawing, gnashing need to _move_.

Kageyama doesn’t seem to mind. Most of the time he just sits, too, calm and mute and content. Hinata is half-happy; happy that he’s making Kageyama more comfortable, but there’s a weighty kind of sadness to it, too, to knowing that Kageyama is more at peace with a standard of stillness and quiet that Hinata can’t ever live up to.

He jams the phone back in his pocket and shoves his hands between his thighs.

It’s been a long while since Hinata has really, truly wished he was _normal._ No Tourette’s, no tics, no anxiety no panic attacks no crying over nothing under back stairwells where nobody will find him. But right now he’s wishing for it more than anything in the _world_.

He sucks in another shaky, empty breath, and when he chokes it back out again, his name comes hollow and echoing from the stairs above him.

“Hinata?”

Hinata blinks, bites back a cough and claps a hand over his mouth. No, _no_ , Kageyama can’t see him like this. He _can’t_.

Hinata tugs the cuffs of his jacket over his hands and wipes at his eyes. Kageyama wasn’t supposed to find him - he didn’t text him, in the end, so how does he even know he’s _here?_ He rubs at his nose, spreads snot over his top lip, and the footsteps on the stairs grow louder, closer, until they hit the tile floor and round the corner.

Kageyama spots him the second he clears the stairs. He stops dead, eyes wide, caught in the disaster of Hinata’s first bad breakdown in _months_. Hinata buries his face in his knees and shakes his head.

“Go away,” he says, groaning and choking. Kageyama’s feet come closer until they stop right in front of him. There’s a quiet moment where nothing happens, just Hinata gagging sobs into the fabric of his pants, and then a big, hesitant hand drops atop his head, ruffling into his hair.

“What’s up?”

Kageyama stumbles over the words. Hinata cringes in on himself, tucks into a ball and yells a couple of short, sharp cries into his thighs. Kageyama’s fingers clench a little against his scalp. 

“Why are you here?”

Hinata doesn’t mean to wail quite as much as he does. Kageyama’s fingers tighten reflexively, again.

“You called me, idiot,” Kageyama says. Hinata digs his phone from his pocket; the screen displays a big, bold _call ended_ sign, and Hinata curses his own slippery, panicking fingers and hides it away again, wraps white knuckles around his calves to hide their shaking. “And then you said nothing, so I went looking. What, was I supposed to ignore you?”

Hinata shakes his head again, rolls his forehead across his knees over and over until it hurts.

“Oi,” Kageyama tries, gruff and strained, tugging Hinata’s hair a little, “look at me, will you?”

Hinata shakes his head again. Kageyama’s voice is coming all wobbly, tight and pinched, choked somewhere high in his throat. His other hand rests on Hinata's shoulder, pushing like he’s trying to unfold a lawn chair.

“Stop being dumb for five seconds and _look_ at me.” 

Sometimes, Hinata really wishes Kageyama just...wouldn’t talk. It doesn’t always _help_ , especially now, and Kageyama must realise that too because he doesn’t say anything more, just squeezes at his shoulder and rubs his fingers against Hinata’s scalp in silence.

When the first hand retracts, Hinata thinks Kageyama might _actually_ leave. There’s a little part of him that’s relieved; that Kageyama is going to leave him alone to deal with things, and that maybe he’ll forget he ever saw this and they can go back to their silent, peaceful lunches where Hinata doesn’t tic or cry and Kageyama doesn't _wince_ at him. Mostly, though, he’s filled with a heavy, crushing sense of disappointment.

But Kageyama doesn’t leave. Instead, he unfurls Hinata’s fingers from where they’re curled around his ankles and lifts his arm up, up, and presses a kiss to Hinata’s palm.

For a second, he stops breathing, stops crying and panicking, too preoccupied with Kageyama kissing him to continue his melt down.

Kageyama doesn’t stop there - he knots his fingers into Hinata’s, and then he kisses his forehead, too, right at his temple, and then he tucks his face close in at the side of Hinata’s and kisses him on the cheek.  

It’s hot and crowded, with his face buried in his knees and Kageyama’s pressed in so close to him. Hinata sits back slowly to let a little airflow in.

Mistake.

The minute he looks up, sees Kageyama’s weird, constipated face, with his brows all scrunched and his mouth pouted, a fresh, thick band wraps around his chest, squeezes the breath from his lungs and leaks tears from his eyes.

“Dumbass,” Kageyama says, but it comes out soft, and a little croaky. He rubs more snot and tears off of Hinata’s face with the sleeve of his jacket. “You’re a mess.”

Hinata just nods because he _is_ , he is a mess. Kageyama keeps wiping at his cheeks and his nose and his lip even as more fluid builds up and leaks down, and after a little more focused nose-rubbing he stops, grips Hinata by the chin and turns his face up to look at him.

“Gross.”

It’s definitely an insult - it has to be, there’s nothing nice about calling someone _gross_ \- but Kageyama’s face is all slack, relaxed. He leans the distance between them and dusts his lips over the end of Hinata’s nose.

The warmth from it melts all the way through Hinata’s face, down his neck, sinks in his chest and leaks in his gut. It’s not a quick fix - he’s still shaking, still hacking his breaths, still filled head to toe with a near insurmountable sense of dread - but it is better. It’s better because Kageyama is with him, he’s not running away, he’s not even flinching with his lips dancing over Hinata’s snotty nose.

Not until a little successions of yelps jump their way out of his mouth.

Then Kageyama frowns at him, brow pulled low and dark over his eyes, and he scoots himself back until there’s a little breathing room between them.

“Am I making it worse?”

Hinata shakes his head. _No_ , he thinks, _god no_ , but all that comes out is an eek squeezed from the back of his throat. Breathing is still impossibly hard, like sucking air through a straw. He claws at Kageyama’s shirt and gasps around a mouthful of hums and squeaks. Kageyama pinches at his fingers, and peppers kisses over the end of his twitching nose.

“You’re fine,” he says, “just a bad day. Tomorrow will be better, probably.”

Hinata snorts a little laugh.

“Probably,” he says, wheezes, and Kageyama punches him in the shoulder. The brush of his knuckles is...weirdly reassuring, sets something warm and tingly dancing over his skin and sinking down to his bones.

“Yeah, _probably_. I can’t like...see the future, dumbass, I’m just _guessing.”_

“Mhm.”  

There's a moment where neither of them speak; Hinata’s teeth rattle in his jaw and Kageyama’s mouth taps kisses over the end of his nose every time it scrunches, and then Hinata coughs, sniffs, tightens his grip on Kageyama’s shirt.

“Do you wish I was normal?”

Kageyama hums a little while he's thinking. One hand strays to Hinata's back, rubbing light patterns over his uniform.

“Sometimes,” he says. Hinata’s stomach coils. It's not like he didn't expect the answer - he _knows_ Kageyama must be sick of his tics, it's all he's been thinking about, but to hear it, to hear it out of his mouth…

Hinata bites his bottom lip so hard he thinks it might bleed.

“I wish you wouldn’t do weird stuff all the time."

Hinata chokes back a strangled little sob and stretches a hand to tug at his hair. Kageyama fishes it out, threads each finger away and ties them in with his own. 

"Like that _thing_ with your chopsticks,” he says. Hinata sniffles, frowns. “You know,” Kageyama continues, “you know, the walrus thing.”

“But it’s funny.”

“It’s stupid.”

“ _You’re_ stupid.”

Kageyama’s lip curls up in a tiny, almost imperceptible smile.

“You’re...fine,” he says, rakes Hinata’s hair back off his face, “you’re fine like this. Even if you are weird. And also stupid.”

They are far from perfect, but Kageyama’s words are comfort enough. Hinata takes a few steadying breaths and rubs his face down once more. Kageyama’s hand never leaves his spine; it sits warm, reassuring, holds all his pieces together while he glues them in place with each new breath, and when he is ready, he stands, stretches to his feet, and shakes out his arms.

“I’m okay,” he says, both to Kageyama and to himself, and Kageyama nods, stands along with him, bends to press the softest of kisses to the very tip of his nose.

“You’re okay.”


	5. Neck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my flu-ridden ass is sorry for my inconsistency also here pls enjoy!!

Kageyama is Not having a good day.

That much, Hinata can tell; he’s extra grouchy, all pouty and mopey from the minute Hinata meets up with him in the morning, and all through practice (during which he barely even _tries_ , which is honestly astounding), and he is silent through lunch, doesn’t eat, doesn’t even have his _milk_ , and then, when practice rolls around at the end of the day, Kageyama bypasses the gym and heads straight for the front gates.

Hinata pokes his head out of the clubroom. He’s dressed already, kitted in his shorts and his shirt, skin bitten and chilled in the crisp breeze. From the balcony he can see Kageyama, mouth buried in the wrappings of his scarf, brow dipped and wrinkled beneath the knit brim of his hat. Hinata teeters on his toes, taps his fingers to the barrier.

Ennoshita stands wide-eyed and mouth gaping when Hinata runs by, shouting his excuses, and chasing Kageyama’s tail out of the gates and down the road.

He’s rounding the corner of the street when Hinata catches up to him.

“Oi,” he says, jogs to keep up with Kageyama’s long strides, “where are you going?”

“Home.”

Hinata falters in his step. Kageyama doesn’t miss practice, not for anything, not even that one time he had really, _really_ bad food poisoning and _literally_ couldn’t keep anything inside of his body. So Hinata can’t think of a reason Kageyama would willingly skip out now.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, shouts, because in the time he’s been thinking, Kageyama has made it to the end of the street. Hinata runs the distance between them and bounces on the balls of his feet. “Are you sick?”

Now that he’s looking at him - _really_ looking at him - Hinata can see big, purple crescents bruising the skin beneath Kageyama’s eyes. They’re back dropped by paper-white skin, and Kageyama’s eyes are bloodshot and red-rimmed, watery in the October wind.

“No. Go away.”

“You must be sick, if you’re gonna miss _practice_.”

Kageyama growls, deep and rumbly from the back if his throat. Hinata stills, drops his hands to his sides and clasps them behind his back to keep still.

“I'm not sick,” he says, and though he's starting calmly, Hinata can hear the steady rise in his tone. “I’m just tired. I want to go home, and I want you to _leave me alone._ ”

Kageyama has always been snappy, hot tempered and short fused, but he’s never, not since they started dating, told Hinata to get away from him and really, honestly meant it.

Hinata’s shoulders sink and he takes a step back, swallowing, blinking hard and fast and scrunching his nose, and for the smallest of moments, something like regret flickers across Kageyama’s face.

It goes as quickly as it came. Kageyama turns on his heel and storms down the road without another word.

* * *

Practice passes a little listlessly. Hinata can hardly concentrate, too busy thinking about what might bother Kageyama so much he'd a) _w_ _illingly_ miss practice and b) snap so earnestly. He tics his way through three missed serves, eyes scrunching too hard and too fast to see, and he flops on almost all of his spikes with arms windmilling at his sides, calves aching from the bounce of his feet.

In the end, Hinata asks to leave early, too. The idea of going home with Kageyama mad at him makes his stomach ache something _awful_ , and Ennoshita waves him off almost eagerly. Hinata tries not to think about it, but he can’t help feeling that the team probably don’t want him there when all he can do is tic and fumble and fail.

Kageyama’s front door is open when Hinata arrives. It's not unusual; Kageyama almost always forgets to lock it if he's home alone, and Hinata wanders in with a quiet _sorry for the intrusion_ , toes off his shoes and flicks the lock behind him. Kageyama’s trainers sit haphazard on the mat, one balanced toes to the wall and the other on its side like he'd kicked them there (which, Hinata thinks, he probably did). Hinata frowns, drops his bag beside Kageyama’s where it's been tossed, and pads into the house.

He finds Kageyama in his bedroom.

Hinata doesn't think Kageyama has heard him; if he had, he'd have rolled over, he'd have shouted, screamed maybe, thrown Hinata bodily from the house but instead he stays still. He's lying with his back to the door, body turned to the wall, with one bent arm cradling his head against the pillows. Hinata pushes the door open all the way.

“‘Yama?”

Kageyama drags in a quick, sharp breath and chokes, a wet, cloyed kind of sound, and Hinata watches him turn his face into his own elbow and wipe his cheek against his sleeve.

“I told you to leave me alone.”

Kageyama sounds all...all weird, wrong, shaky and weak and _sad._

Hinata rings his hands in his shirt. He isn’t really sure what to _do_ ; he’s seen Kageyama angry and he’s seen him frustrated, but he’s never seen him so thoroughly...beaten, before.

“Go away.”

Kageyama’s voice is muffled, face turned into his arm, and Hinata takes a couple more cautious steps into the room and stands beside the bed. He wriggles his toes into Kageyama’s carpet, swallowing.

“You okay?”

It’s stupid, he knows it’s stupid, because clearly Kageyama is very _not_ okay, but he doesn’t even argue. Doesn’t say anything, just breathes big and deep and even, and lies still.

Hinata stands for a while longer, stands and watches and tries to think of something he can do to help. Obviously volleyball is the wrong answer, and honestly, Hinata isn't sure there is another way of helping Kageyama deal with anything.

And then he thinks about the ways Kageyama helps him. He's never been one for words - tends to do more harm than good, most times - so more often than not, Kageyama helps him through actions. Touches. Hugs or kisses, and Hinata thinks that maybe, if that's how Kageyama helps him, it might just work the other way around.

Kageyama grumbles when Hinata’s knees hit the mattress, and he continues to grumble when Hinata lies down behind him, pressing flush down the length of his back. He wriggles, jerks his shoulder back when Hinata braces a palm on it.

“What part of _leave me alone_ are you not understanding?”

It comes out raspy, a little desperate. Hinata hates it.

His head sinks a little way into Kageyama’s soft pillow. From here, he can’t see Kageyama’s face; only the stretch of tan skin at the back of his neck, the close-cropped hair at the base of his skull, the tension rippling muscles in his shoulders, stretching big, long lines of rigid tissue all the way up to his jaw.

Hinata blows out a breath. It ruffles the collar of Kageyama’s shirt, and Kageyama shudders.

The skin at the back of Kageyama’s neck looks soft, smooth, unmarked and untouched. Hinata leans in a little closer until his nose is tickling over it.

Kageyama shuffles his shoulders. His breaths are coming ragged, dragging like razors in his throat. Hinata tucks shaking fingers into Kageyama’s shirt. His eyes pinch shut, squeeze tight. It’s a battle to hold back the eek itching on his tongue; it’s almost impossible to force himself to do this, this one small task when the back of his brain is bursting, screaming that Kageyama will hate it.

Hinata sucks a big lungful of air. Kageyama is barely moving but he is talking, whispering something so low under his breath Hinata couldn’t hear it if he tried to.

He puffs air into his cheeks, puckers his lips. _Now or never_ , he thinks, before he presses his mouth right against the back of Kageyama’s neck.

Kageyama stops making noises, stops _breathing_ , stiffens from head to toe and for a moment, Hinata thinks he's done something wrong. He starts to slip back - there isn't much room on the mattress for him to manoeuvre and he can feel the empty space where the bed ends looming too close, and then one of Kageyama’s arms swings over his hip and catches Hinata by the wrist.

He tugs, just a little, until Hinata's chest hits his back again. Hinata wiggles his other arm underneath Kageyama’s body to loop around him. Kageyama gives another rumble from his throat, but it's a little less discontented, and he lets go of Hinata's hand and knots his own together beneath his head.

“That was nice,” he says. Hinata watches a flush of red creep up Kageyama’s neck and he kisses it, trails after it, then moves back again to watch it settle right on the tips of his ears. Kageyama hums again, and Hinata rests his forehead at the base of Kageyama's skull.

“Thanks.”

Kageyama's voice comes out kind of strangled. Hinata hums his reply and presses his hands up over Kageyama's chest. His heart is beating hard and fast, and each breath comes a little quick, a little desperate.

They lie still and silent, pressed together in Kageyama’s too-small bed, sinking into the softness of the blankets and the pillows. Hinata sighs a long, slow breath against Kageyama’s back. Kageyama shuffles his hands under his head.

“I think I caught your anxiety.”

His voice comes out thick and wobbly. Hinata hugs his arms tighter around Kageyama's waist and presses his mouth to his neck.

“It’s not contagious,” he says, lips catching on Kageyama’s skin with every word. Kageyama grunts out something like a laugh, then curls his long body in on itself, sheltering the places where Hinata knows he must hurt. Hinata tucks his knees right in the groove behind Kageyama's, so there is barely room for air between them.

They fall into another light silence, with Hinata’s mouth pressed close and closed to the flushed skin at the back of Kageyama’s neck. The idea of Kageyama suffering through anything like what he deals with sets something fat and weighty curling in his stomach; it’s not fair, he thinks, not fair that Kageyama has to feel those kinds of things, too.

“Do you wanna, like...talk about it?” Hinata tries, and Kageyama shakes his head.

“No,” he says, scrunches deeper into the blankets. Hinata doesn’t know what else he’s supposed to _do_ \- so, he does nothing. He cuddles Kageyama, breathes through his nose and keeps his mouth pressed firm to Kageyama’s neck. He should go home, really, because the sky is dusting orange beyond the window and his mother will worry if darkness falls before he makes it over the mountain. But Kageyama is settling his breaths and loosening the tension in his limbs, breathing slow and easy, sinking back into the pressure of Hinata's lips to his skin, and so Hinata stays, and they sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let them be sad and Nap together please @ god


	6. Lips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...oops? I'm legit so sorry about leaving this for ages but I got sucked into a lot of other things and forgot a little bit my bad 
> 
> Anyway!! here have the last part and then it's dead and gone forever

Kageyama’s Bad Days don’t stop there.

Sometimes, in the beginning, Hinata would ride them out with him, but as the weeks go by—as October gives way to November, November to December—Kageyama starts pushing him away in earnest.

Missed sleepovers, skipping out on extra practice, sitting next to Yachi on the bus to practice matches, setting his futon in the corner next to Yamaguchi during an overnight stay - Hinata doesn't know what he's supposed to do, to fix whatever is breaking.

And before _that_ , before Kageyama’s all-out avoidance, he phased physical contact down to nil. Nothing. No hugs, no kisses, no holding hands on the walk home or brushing knees at lunch or knotting feet under the table while they try ( _t_ _ry)_ to do their homework.

Hinata...thinks he knows where this is going. It's all he can think about; his tics are too much, Kageyama can't cope with them, he's letting Hinata down gently so the break up won't suck so much, and Hinata dwells on it for  _weeks_ before things finally come to a head.

It's one night after practice, when Kageyama does the swiftest change Hinata has ever seen, barrels for the door before anybody can so much as say goodbye to him. He’s been doing it a lot lately, fleeing, but today Hinata is tired, and he’s cranky, and his tics have been _hell_ and he has had _enough_.

He follows with his jacket half on, shoving items in his bag and wrestling a shoe onto his foot, and then he's running, tearing down the steps and across the yard, but Kageyama must have ran, too, because Hinata can't see him anywhere.

In the end, he runs all the way to Kageyama’s house. It’s freezing, a bitter kind of cold that mists his breath, freezes his lips and dries his eyes until they sting. Hinata’s chest aches as he runs; it aches from the cold, the exertion, from the biting anxiety clawing at his ribs. He needs to sort this out - needs a fix, a final answer, whatever that may be.

There's no answer to his knock, so Hinata throws Kageyama’s door open and kicks his way in.

“Oi, _bakageyama_ ,” he calls, yells, tumbles through the house and up the stairs. Kageyama yells something incoherent in return, all shocked and stunned when Hinata hurls the bedroom door open and leaps, hops his way over to the bed and flops down onto the mattress.

Kageyama stands up, puts three thousand feet of space between them, and backs himself all the way to the opposite wall.

“What the _hell_ are you doing in my house?”

Kageyama is snarling, livid. Hinata props himself on his knees on the bed and folds his arms. His face twitches, scrunches.

“I've had enough,” he says. Kageyama’s fingers fidget at his sides, eyes zigzagging, searching for a way out. “Stop _ignoring_ me and just...just break up with me already. if that's what you're gonna do.”

Kageyama’s face goes from an angry red, to purple, to white, and it settles on a weird, mottled green, curled up in the biggest, most complex frown Hinata has ever seen.

“Why would I do that?”

“You,” Hinata starts, but a string of hums lock his voice in his throat, “you tell me.”

Kageyama looks a little like he might be sick. Hinata ploughs on, ignores the anger growing over Kageyama’s face.

“I just want to know why you've been acting so...so - mmmmmmm - so _weird_!”

“ _I_ _’ve_ been weird?”

Hinata nods, hard and fast, and Kageyama scrunches his brow even further and points an accusing finger.

“ _Y_ _ou’ve_ been weird,” he says - _shouts,_  and Hinata’s arms flap at his sides. “You’ve been weird and quiet and...not _you_ for _months_. So  _you_ tell _me_ what the hell is wrong with you.”

“What’s wrong with me?” Hinata is trying for loud, for boisterous, for _furious_ , but his voice cracks around the edges and everything comes out a little higher than he’d planned. “What’s wrong with me is I have _Tourrette’s_. My brain doesn’t work the way it’s meant to, stupid! I’m loud and I move a lot and I cry sometimes and I can’t control it, and if you don’t like it that’s _fine_ ,” it’s not fine, it’s so far from fine that Hinata’s eyes burn as he says it, “but don’t keep cringing every time you have to kiss me or hug me or whatever. Just _stop_.”

Kageyama’s face goes from livid to slack and boneless in seconds. He stops, stares, blinks long and slow, and takes a few steps closer. Hinata slides way back over the mattress.

“I don’t want you to have to force yourself to b-be with me.” Hinata croaks the sentence like it chokes him - it _does_ choke him - and he knots his fingers together to hide their shaking. “I don’t want you to...to kiss me and stuff if it grosses you out.”

“Stop,” Kageyama says, holds up a hand. “Just stop, for a second.”

He walks the space between them and kneels by the bed, sinks his fingers into the sheets and squeezes so hard his knuckles go white.

“You think,” he says, swallows thickly, “you think _I_ don’t want to kiss _you?”_

Hinata nods his head. He is teary eyed, vision blurry, so blurry he doesn’t see Kageyama moving until his hand cuffs him upside the head.

It isn’t hard, barely enough to ruffle his hair. Kageyama follows it by sinking his fingers into Hinata’s locks and rubbing over his scalp. Hinata blinks back his tears and sniffles, hiccups, bounces his knees against the mattress. Kageyama sighs out something like a laugh.

“I…” he starts, and when Hinata chances a peek at him his cheeks are burning red, and his eyes are off to one side, pinched and focused on a spot on the wall. “I do want to. Kiss you, I mean.” His tongue goes all fumbly over the words and Hinata’s lips curl a little at the corners. It’s...kind of nice, this messy, unsure Kageyama.

“Then why haven’t you?”

Kageyama’s eyes flit to Hinata’s face and away again. He swallows, and then he lets go of Hinata’s hair and turns to sit, back to the bed frame, so Hinata can only see the back of his head as he speaks.

“You go like all,” he pauses, searches for the right (wrong anyway, probably) words, “tic-crazy whenever I try. I thought you didn’t like it.”

Hinata almost can’t believe what he’s hearing. All this time, and Hinata has thought, he has honest to God thought that Kageyama didn’t want to kiss him because of his tics. And...he supposes he wasn’t _wrong_ , not entirely, but it makes his stomach go all twisted and fizzy to know that Kageyama wasn’t disgusted by him at all.

“I’ve been worried about it,” Kageyama goes on, blunt. Hinata’s brows shoot to his hairline at the honesty. Kageyama doesn’t even stumble. “I kept kissing you and stuff, at first, just because I wanted to but then you’d start...you know, and I thought I was making you uncomfortable.”

“ _Uwuaaaaaah!”_ Hinata’s arms swing out, smack back in, rinse and repeat, and then he’s moving, pressing his weight on his knees as he launches himself forward, circles his arms right around Kageyama’s neck and throws his weight against his back. Kageyama’s body folds close to the floor, a quiet _oof_ puffing out of his chest.

“Oi!” He growls, catches Hinata’s wrists to steady him. Hinata nudges his face into the crook of Kageyama’s neck.

“Idiot,” he says, smiling into Kageyama’s warm skin. “I get all twitchy because it makes me _happy_. Like...super happy, so happy I feel like I’m gonna explode if I don’t _do_ something.”

“Oh.”

Hinata slides the rest of the way off the mattress, settles on his knees behind Kageyama’s back. His arms unwind from his neck and he presses his forehead between Kageyama’s shoulders.

“I was really scared,” Hinata mumbles, squeaks through his nose. He tangles his fingers in the sides of Kageyama’s shirt. “I thought you’d maybe changed your mind about like...being with me and stuff.”

Kageyama loosens Hinata’s grip on his shirt and twists to face him. He’s got a weird, determined kind of look on his face, like he gets when he’s about to do a _really_ good toss in volleyball, and then he grabs Hinata by the jaw with both hands and plants a kiss square on his lips.

It’s not like Hinata imagined a first kiss to be. There are no fireworks, it doesn’t even feel that good, not as good as spiking a good toss feels, and it’s just kind of warm and wet and a little bit painful where Kageyama’s nose smacks into his.

But it’s _nice_. It’s so nice, it fills Hinata from head to toe with a contented kind of heat, and he sighs out a breath through his nose and presses his face closer.

Kageyama pulls away after a couple of seconds - probably too long to just...stay still, lip on lip, but Hinata doesn’t really mind - and he rubs at his nose with a frown.

“I don’t think that was right,” he says, and a real, honest laugh belts out of Hinata’s chest. His face scrunches up, eyes blinking, and a few hums bubble up his throat and Kageyama watches, perplexed, while Hinata tics himself out around his laughter.

“It was good,” Hinata says, presses one, then two, then three-four-five pecks to Kageyama’s lips and swings his arms back around his neck. “The best.” Six, seven, eight, Kageyama overbalances and Hinata’s weight topples down on top of him. “The most perfect.” Nine, _ten_ kisses, and Kageyama’s face is tomato red, hot, and he palms Hinata away with the back of one hand pressed over his mouth to hide his smile.

“Stop, you’re a human embarrassment.”

Hinata just laughs a little harder, kisses Kageyama on the nose, on the cheek, on the forehead, over and over until he can barely breathe. He’s smiling when Kageyama flips them over, pins Hinata to the floor and launches his retaliation. His kisses tickle where they skirt over his face, dancing a line from cheek to temple, all the way across his forehead, right in the middle of his brows and down his nose, and Kageyama bypasses his lips to kiss his chin, his jaw, even braves a few kisses across his neck that rip a weird, strangled gasp from Hinata’s throat because _oh_ , they feel _good_ , before he finally kisses him on the mouth.

This kiss is a little better—it’s softer, less urgent, and Hinata can taste the mint on Kageyama’s breath, feel the way it eases out of his lungs and against his mouth.

Kageyama breaks it, and sits up and back with a cough. Hinata grins.

“That was—mmmm—good.” He hums a little more when he’s done talking and Kageyama nods, stands, pulls Hinata to his feet. He feels giddy, weightless, and once he’s upright he bobs on his toes, hops up, jumps his arms at his sides. Kageyama sinks a hand into his hair.

“You good?” He says, and Hinata’s grin is blinding. He nods, so hard his brain bobs about in his skull, and then he puckers his lips and stretches way up on the tips of his toes.

Kageyama meets him halfway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boi am I glad that's over I am *sweats* less than impressed with myself but w/e IN OTHER NEWS I have ppppppretty much finished (apart from editing yikes) my first kagehina longfic waaaaaah so I will hopefully start posting that soon too AAH 
> 
> Anyhow thanks a bunch for any comments/kudos etc thank u all lots idk what else to say

**Author's Note:**

> eyyy hopefully this is all okay!! It's all written (barring edits to the last chapter) so I should stick on a new chapter per day schedule, and they do get a little longer but I mean the whole thing is probs gonna be like 10k or less so it's short and (hopeefully) sweet


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